Monotonous are the hours, even with daylight descending so rapidly. And yet how fleet the river of that last voyage. Already you are miles away. Just then, too, Green Dragon acer turned tail and vanished. Some of its firelight fixed in glycerine; reds fading to old blood but the yellows almost vibrant. November came and wrapped memory in wool. A shawl of shock. Now it roars and pads like a lost lion cub. Free-flying foliage storms the skies. Birds scatter in crumbling clusters across cross winds. I am torn in all directions. Awareness has returned, crisp as frosting in tear ducts, just when the calendar is turning winter blue. The roses we gathered along the way are fragrant recollections -tipped with thorn. Still there is the constancy of green, on holly and yew.
An acrostic piece of ‘proesy’ in memory of Martin – for Toni’s prompt about changes and the sadness around them – employing that wistful Japanese phrase: Mono no Aware. And linking up with others in the Poetry Pantry
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